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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24948886">Sienna and Sand</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/adaora/pseuds/adaora'>adaora</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Destiny (Video Games)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Dirty Thoughts, F/F, Fantasizing, Masturbation, Secret Crush, Vaginal Fingering</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 08:42:47</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,721</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24948886</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/adaora/pseuds/adaora</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>In a secluded corner of the Braytech Futurescape in soft sands and cold winds, a flushed Ana Bray cedes to her thoughts and thirsts that pertain to a certain Guardian, and tends to the part of her body that wants her the most.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Ana Bray/Female Guardian (Destiny)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>26</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Sienna and Sand</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Thickly soled boots trudge quickly through burnt sand and ground, stumbling through movement and struggling to stay committed, white silicone dashed and flushed with the red sand of the planet.</p><p>The woman, hair black and cheeks flushed to a healthy red with a glistening of sweat, has already unfastened the belt about their waist, fingers pulling at the top of her padded greaves in anticipation. The way her legs are uneasy and coarse in motion brings tight, lightly armoured fabric to grind against one another, and it sounds tight licks of pleasure through her crotch as she traverses as flesh and sensitive skin beneath is pushed and folded about roughly.</p><p>Her breath hitches with each instance, modicums of pleasured whines sometimes joining them. Having turned the corner of the old, abandoned radar station, and reached her spot, she tumbles hastily into the small patch of shaded sand and rusted metal that sits beneath a small staircase and out of sight. She pulls the trousers from her legs quickly, core engulfed and mind thirsty, and soft muscle of her rear is met with a cool mould of Martian ground.</p><p>They take no notice of it, hand slipping down a clothed stomach that shifts slightly with the tightening and dropping of coarse breaths that rack her chest, and breaching the constricted elastic about the top of her underwear that holds tight. It is soon within the fabric covering, and pushing past her familiar tuft of untouched black pubic hair and the skin about it, feverishly seeking out the front of her sex.</p><p>"Ah…" Her head pushes against metal as she meets it abruptly, fingers clambering hungrily at dampened folds and packed nerve endings. She bucks herself forward as she goes, a tight bite to her lip as squeaked moans of pleasure emanate from her mouth. "Mm…"</p><p>The sunlight purple coloured underwear that holds the air of Mars from her union and a hungry hand within grows damper and more creased, and it isn't long until she's grown tired of her current process, and driven a finger further through her aroused folds to find her needy entrance and tease at it.</p><p>She moans again as she parts her nethers, and images of the Guardian that brings her to this, skin pale and hair medium-cut in locks of burnt sienna that shade perfect blue eyes are thrust to the front of her mind. She's beautiful to Ana, a woman of delicate yet exercised frame and with a face gentle and intricate and a voice soft like silk. Her laugh, the thing that made Ana fall for her in the first place and is even rarer than her voice, is a soft cadence of breath and amused rhythm with harmonious rings in between, and it tightens Ana's chest to asphyxiation whenever it comes forward.</p><p>She brings Ana to quaking legs sometimes and shaky thoughts of adoration, and each time she visits her she can't help but drink in the curve of her hips about her armour when she's not looking, and the mould of her battle-panted rear as she strides away, flesh tightly curved and firm and knowingly teasing to Ana beneath black leather and synthetic.</p><p>The thoughts push her further into her self-love, and the finger that sat idle now slides into wet, warm flesh that grips tightly, and the parting sensation drives Ana's back into the rusted wall again. "Fuck…" The motion brings the palm of her hand to now attend to her front, and the increased pressure of messy, harsh motions drive her closer to ecstasy.</p><p>She wants to see what is under that battle-hardened vest of geometric metal and airtight undershirt. She pictures soft, untouched pale flesh of curved bosom, and the skin of her collarbone that Ana would mark with hungry love bites and kisses. To her crudest degree, she desperately wants to know what treasures lie within her skintight, partly armoured leg wear , and how beautiful she is without them. She would do anything for her, any request or dare that she pleased.</p><p>"Guardian…" Another finger slides in, accompanying the other and now coming to caress the front of her walls in greater depth. She has had Rasputin do background checks on her, early in the morning when Ana is risen from sleep and feeding at a bowl of cool cereal with unchecked, naïve thoughts on her mind. She finds herself lusting over details and anecdotes that pertain to the Guardian she cannot stop thinking about, details of her apartment in the Last City and the fireteam she holds commitment to in the Crucible. Her favourite food is some sort of fried rice, given her consistent visits and purchases at the shop near to her apartment, and she is an avid fan of Marcus Ren and the SRL.</p><p>She asks Rasputin if there is anything pertaining to relationships or sexuality. He says nothing.</p><p>She hopes desperately that the Young Wolf sees Ana the same way, because it’s a nauseating strangle of impatience and sheer, unchecked wanting that Ana feels for the woman.</p><p>She wants her head between her legs, making licked and hot magic to her with hungry breaths and unkempt moans. She imagines that beautiful pale face of hers, that holds plump lips of peach lipstick, dampened and decorated with Ana's arousal and her hair messed with the haphazard motion of Ana's hands as she runs them through it and grips at it in loving pleasure.</p><p>"Ah…" Another grind of a palm bucks her legs, and Ana can feel the rising temperature of her loins and core sounding the approach of her climax. She focuses her thoughts upon the prospects that drive her crazy the most.</p><p>She wants to be mouth-to-mouth to her badly. Tell her how she pines after her when she isn't there in unspeakable thoughts and dreams. She wants to feel the meeting of their bodies as they kiss and touch away the night, hands exploring and groping at one another. Ana wants to straddle her tightly and grind herself into her as they go at it and show her how much she’s always wanted her.</p><p>The heat rises aggressively, and with a final grind of a palm, a roll of her hips, and the culmination of all of her sultry thoughts and dreams, Ana's body falls into shivering ecstasy as she's gripped with a sudden shockwave of hard-earned pleasure. Her movements fall to stasis, and her only free hand comes to cover her mouth to shield any high-pitched moans or screams of pleasure that come from it.</p><p>She feels like she's on fire, on Venus' surface without the blessing of the Traveler's light, burning up in harsh winds and scorching air. Her legs shake several times, kicking Martian sand up from around her and engraving her presence here further into the ground.</p><p>The only thought she can manage is her positioning slipping, and Ana places herself against the wall further to brace herself as she rides out the shaking and hot rushes of bliss that engulf her body. Flashes of heat throughout nerves that burn hot, cramps and curls of gripped muscle, the quaking and rushing of breath throughout her lungs that are lined with whistles of bliss and desperation.</p><p>But slowly, and reluctantly to the lust filled woman, the aggressive energy of her climax meets entropy and subsides into depreciation, eventually reaching a point that the bliss is gone and leaves only post-coital ache in her loins and a soreness in her sex. She struggles to catch her breath momentarily, hoarse gulps of air flooding her lungs in an attempt to cling to her consciousness, and not pass out trousers down and hand-down-underwear at the back of an abandoned Clovis Bray facility.</p><p>As she stabilises herself, she grows further aware to her current circumstance with a clear and more responsible train of thought, and the fingers that remain within her grow impatient with more deliberate, decent purpose of research and work. Ana swallows, accepting she's had her moment and that she will be inevitably needed back at her post. She removes her hand from her womanhood, but it's met with the stagnant fluid of her arousal and a discomforting réchauffé of sore flesh and overstimulated nerve endings.</p><p>She may have gone at it too roughly.</p><p>She winces, taking the process slower and bringing her hand delicately from her now ruined underwear. She wipes her hand against a trouser leg, and pulls the sunlight purple undergarment up to fully return to her crotch, having been pushed down slightly in the rush and excitement of her masturbation.</p><p>She's met with an unpleasant sensation of sweated and stickied fabric to warm flesh. "Ana…" There is a whisper of disappointment to herself, her now clear mind scolding the woman from five minutes ago who had brought her to this in a frenzy of arousal and wet dreamscapes.</p><p>She has no choice but to endure it, and she hoists herself up slightly from the Martian sand, which now decorates her unclothed buttocks in faint patches of dry grain that is bound to drips of sweat, and pulls her trousers up her legs, returning them to the decent position. Her belt refastens with a simple click, and she shifts her hips about to measure the quality of her situation.</p><p>She's met with a sickly dampness and a still burning heat across her crotch, and a general feel of exhaustion and expenditure across her body. A groan of burden emanates from her throat, now not looking forward to the rest of her day before she can shower and rest.</p><p>A flash of thought reacquaints her, one of the Guardian's needy face and an exercised arm cupping a plump pair of delicious bosomed flesh. Ana shakes it from her mind, trying her hardest to avoid a second wave of desire as she feels her core twitch and union tingle at the thought.</p><p>Her legs are now somewhat sore and a slight stiff from her inconvenient position and her aggressive doctrine of self-love, and she makes careful steps down the slight incline of sand as she strides to return to her post.</p><p>She takes a breath of cool Martian air, and despite her unbridled love for the woman, hopes the Guardian isn't there to meet her, lest she fall into hysterics once again.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thanks for reading.</p><p>adaora</p></blockquote></div></div>
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